


Artlaw's Field

by KyeAbove



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Insanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 13:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18591841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyeAbove/pseuds/KyeAbove
Summary: Wally cleaned up the studio’s messes and he was perfectly in love with that. But the others in the studio have conflicting allowances for boredom.





	Artlaw's Field

**Author's Note:**

> Finally back with a newish project. Life’s been hectic for several months so haven’t had time until now to develop something new until now. This is kinda similar, a bit of a rewrite, although ultimately unconnected to my one old series, _amnesiac_.

Tick tock, shouldn’t the clock go? Wally had been in this area much in the last while and he was sure this clock was supposed to move. He’d replaced the batteries several times too, and no matter what it kept still.

His ears strained, trying to find the faintest of ticking and finding only the usual studio whispering and sometimes distant screams. Disappointment was always his to find and despair upon. 

Wally was always hyper focused on this clock. Why?  It mostly gave him something to do with his time aside from cleaning. Wally checked the clock once more. 

The batteries were  _ missing.  _

“What the heck?” 

Wally took the clock off the wall, and shook it, as if daring, trying, waiting for the batteries to suddenly appear and fall from the clock. The clock moved with his movements but the batteries were gone.  

Gone, until one rolled up to his boot from a near dark corner. Wally jumped, almost dropping the clock, and another battery rolled appeared from the darkness, held by a clawed hand, and rolled that one towards Wally too.    
  
Danger, Wally decided, already fresh off an encounter with the prayer cult, so he ran away, clutching his clock and deciding he could find new batteries later. 

So now even though it did not move on its own, Wally had his one constant in his arms. Cradled like a baby, and as precious as one. 

A constant in this strange place. Here. Wally did not know what ‘here’ was, only that it was all he had ever known, or could at least remember. Endless, really. A world of world of wood and ink and sorrow. And his clock. 

Wally would protect this clock. A little hard in this hell, but all he could do.

At least until he found another distraction. 


End file.
